Knowing he couldn't pass through the Black Sand Storm, Xia Li decided to take a detour to visit Vajra Temple first.

  As for Zhusong's warning—that so-called "life is death, death is life"...

  Xia Li didn't dare act recklessly. He wasn't about to foolishly rush into the Black Sand Storm to die once and see what happened. He didn't like gambling, let alone gambling with his life.

  Only by grasping enough information could one see the boundary between life and death. Only then would the transformation between life and death have meaning.

  Five days later...

  Xia Li arrived at an expanse of red desert. Atop a tall stone mountain, Xia Li spotted Vajra Temple.

  The surrounding desert was dotted with many Buddha statues, Vajra statues, and Arhat Bodhisattva statues.

  These stone figures had all been severely weathered by time, giving off an indescribable sense of decay.

  Even Vajra Temple atop the stone mountain appeared quite dilapidated—hard to imagine it was a great Buddhist monastery.

  Yet despite standing far below at the mountain's base, Xia Li could still hear the bell-chiming and sutra-chanting from the summit.

  "Deep in the wasteland, a solitary temple on an isolated mountain..."

  "But can this really cultivate the heart?"

  Xia Li knew Buddhism emphasized cultivating the heart. Buddhist techniques were more or less related to mental state, which gave rise to various martial body-tempering methods that trained both body and mind.

  After observing from the mountain base for quite a while, Xia Li finally stepped toward the ascending stairway.

  The stone steps were severely worn and weathered, completely stripped of their edges. Wind-blown sand covering the stairs made them easy to slip on. The Buddha statues flanking the steps had blurred faces—who knew how many years ago they'd been carved.

  But to Xia Li, this didn't make Vajra Temple seem careless. Instead, it felt deliberate. The temple didn't maintain the statues precisely to create this sense of time-eroded antiquity.

  It seemed the marks of age were also a form of heart cultivation.

  Walking all the way to the temple gates, crossing over the unguarded, long-faded vermillion wooden threshold, a young monk sweeping sand nearby immediately approached to greet Xia Li.

  "Greetings, benefactor. Are you here to offer incense?"

  The young monk was travel-worn. His youthful face had already developed calluses from the sandstorms, though his eyes still held a boy's spirit.

  "Mm."

  Xia Li nodded. Whether from habit or not, entering a temple to offer incense first had become natural to him.

  When he'd first been diagnosed with his illness, he'd actually gone to a temple to offer incense. In that moment, he'd desperately hoped there truly were gods and Buddhas in this world. He'd always considered himself a materialist.

  Always having "there are no gods or Buddhas" on his lips.

  But when true suffering came, he'd even regretted being a materialist. He couldn't even deceive himself for peace of mind, tormented by the fear of death through every painful night.

  He envied those devout believers who could face death peacefully—at least they'd conquered fear, conquered death.

  So he wanted to believe, was willing to believe. Could gods and Buddhas perhaps be benevolent higher-dimensional beings?

  "Which Buddha or Bodhisattva would you like to offer incense to?"

  "I... I don't know..."

  Xia Li felt somewhat lost. There were many Buddhas and Bodhisattvas—which one should he pay respects to? Or should he go directly to worship the World-Honored Tathagata?

  "Then you may first pay respects to the Faceless Buddha."

  "Alright, please lead the way, young master."

  Xia Li pressed his palms together and bowed slightly. Seeing this, the young monk immediately returned the gesture, then led Xia Li to a dilapidated temple hall.

  Sand had accumulated in a layer inside the hall. A faceless Buddha statue sat silently cross-legged in the center.

  Above the Buddha's head was a hole in the roof. Sunlight and sand drifted through into the hall. In the reflected light, though the Buddha had no face, it seemed to possess a thousand faces.

  The young monk went to the offering table and retrieved three sticks of incense for Xia Li. Xia Li accepted them, lit them with a spark from his fingertip, then quite naturally prepared to kneel before the Buddha statue.

  "Benefactor, you mustn't!"

  The young monk immediately stopped Xia Li.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Those not of the Buddhist sect do not kneel to Buddha. Bowing at the waist is sufficient."

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  "Kneeling shows respect. Why shouldn't I kneel?"

  "You don't know? This was established by the Daoist sect long ago. And you're a Dao cultivator."

  "I see..."

  Xia Li nodded. It seemed this was a matter of doctrinal competition. Buddhism was, after all, foreign. How could the Daoist sect stand by while Buddhism grew powerful? Thus they'd established the rule that non-Buddhists don't kneel to Buddha.

  But after a moment's hesitation, Xia Li still knelt.

  This wasn't because he lacked dignity, but because it had unknowingly become his habit.

  He vaguely remembered his grandmother taking him up the mountain to worship Buddha when he was young. He'd been very mischievous then, unwilling to kneel. His grandmother never scolded him for his mischief.

  She would just stroke his head, telling him to be more serious—there would be a reward after they finished paying respects.

  After descending the mountain, his grandmother would secretly buy him lots of delicious food, hidden from his parents. From that moment on, good food became synonymous with worshipping Buddha. Worshipping Buddha meant happiness, and his grandmother would be happy too.

  She would stroke his head and gently tell him...

  "The Buddhas and Bodhisattvas will bless you with peace."

  Thinking of that grandmother whose face had grown as blurred in memory as the Faceless Buddha, Xia Li knelt not to pray for himself, but to sincerely wish that his grandmother had found her way to the Western Paradise.

  Earth no longer had temples. Even if he wanted to pay respects, where else could he go?

  Lowering his head, bowing, Xia Li closed his eyes tightly. At this moment, without using the Heaven Chip to extract memories, memories of the past surfaced clearly.

  The temple from his childhood and his gentle grandmother came alive in his mind once more. Everything seemed to have happened just yesterday.

  "Benefactor, you don't need to kneel... really, you don't need to kneel. You can show respect to Buddha in your heart. You..."

  Seeing his advice was futile, the young monk prepared to forcibly help Xia Li up. There were other visiting cultivators in the temple right now. If they saw this, Xia Li would be in trouble.

  How could a Dao cultivator kneel to Buddha?

  "Mingjing, you're attached to appearances."

  At that moment, an old monk walked into the hall, stopping the young monk who was about to help Xia Li up.

  "Look."

  The old monk pointed at the hole in the roof. The trajectory of the falling sand had somehow all converged above Xia Li's head. In the play of light and shadow...

  It was as if something passed through the sand and gently stroked Xia Li's head.

  "Master... what is this?"

  "We are still within time, but some thoughts are already beyond it."

  "Thoughts?"

  The young monk didn't understand, but he devoutly knelt and began chanting sutras softly. To him, this was Buddha manifesting.

  And Xia Li's memories of his grandmother grew ever clearer.

  In his memories, he saw his grandmother regain clarity before death. In that moment of lucidity before passing, she'd called him over, raised her withered hand to stroke his head, and told him:

  "I see what you look like grown up..."

  Then she slightly raised her hand, stroking empty air above his head. He asked if grandmother couldn't see clearly anymore, couldn't feel him.

  His grandmother only smiled and replied:

  "I can see. I can see so clearly. There, there... don't cry..."

  He'd been strong as a boy, holding back his tears without crying. His parents had told him to smile when saying goodbye, so he never cried.

  "Grandma... I really didn't cry!"

  "There, there..."

  But his grandmother's pupils had already dilated, gazing at the ceiling where nothing remained.

  And now, kneeling before the Faceless Buddha, only Xia Li's left eye shed tears—because his right eye was prosthetic. Prosthetics had no tears.

  Should have had no tears...

  Yet sand fell on his face, sliding down from the corner of his eye like tear tracks.

  "Amitabha. Dharma cannot match divine powers, divine powers cannot match karma, karma stems from cause and effect, yet thoughts transcend them all."

  "Mingjing, leave this place to this benefactor. Those without affinity cannot earn a single glance from Buddha even with ten thousand years of prostration."

  "For those with affinity who bow with sincerity—Buddha naturally lowers his gaze, Bodhisattva lowers her brow."